


The Darkest Timeline

by lollercakes



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: 2016 US Presidential Election, 2020 US Presidential Election, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Hate Crimes, Hurt/Comfort, Politics, Refugees, Women's Rights
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-09
Updated: 2019-12-28
Packaged: 2020-10-13 14:55:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20584376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lollercakes/pseuds/lollercakes
Summary: Told in three stories, The Darkest Timeline is a glimpse into the lives being lived from Election Night 2016 to Election Night 2020. It is what was, what is, and what could be.





	1. Election Night, 2020

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SoThere](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoThere/gifts).

> I started researching for this story back in March when SoThere, the wonderful human being she is, bid and won a story from me for the FandomTr*mpsHate Charity Auction. I thought back then it would be easy - I'd write up a little story, get it out into the world, and continue living my life. But this story has been anything but easy to write because the topics are nothing short of heartbreaking. 
> 
> Where in the past I've powered through difficult issues I found this year the atrocities that were being committed, not just in the States but in places around the world, were taking a path towards the more horrendous places in humanity. We have children in cages. Women being subverted and made to be less than once again. White supremacy making a public and vicious play for our attention. I researched every angle I wanted to take in this story and all caused too much of an emotional response for me to tuck away once again. So I started this project - three ficlets surrounding the topics that have spurned me the most set with the same people, in the same timeframe, but with different character traits played up in different ways. Kind of like Black Mirror but with politics and current culture.
> 
> I'm still not done this story. It's a work in progress. But I'm putting the pieces I have out there to draw attention to them and to make me accountable to getting them done. Please don't look away. Please look at these issues for the darkness they have and the hope they can inspire. Be a vocal opponent to oppression. Fight for what you know is right. Treat those around you like you want to be treated. But above all, love one another. Please. I don't want to write this plea for humanity anymore and only doing something about it can make that possible. 
> 
> SoThere, thank you for enjoying my work and believing in this cause enough to donate for it.

“I don’t want to watch,” Katniss mutters, looking towards the living room where her friends lounge in front of the TV and it’s streaming coverage of the polls closing in the East. She twists her hands around the glass, her fingers leaving patterns in the condensation as Peeta leans heavily against the door jam. 

“I get it,” he responds softly. She watches as he shoves his fists deeper in his pockets, as though he’ll be able to crawl inside and never come back out. She couldn’t blame him - she wanted to do that too. 

She was scared. They both were. 


	2. Taken

**Election Night, 2016 - Honduras**

“I’ll be home soon, Mom,” I groan into the phone, looking both ways on the desolate street. My feet carry me quickly across the pavement and into the alley on the other side of the road, the familiar place giving me comfort as my shoes echo in the still night. 

“You shouldn’t be out walking around this late by yourself,” Mom scolds and I can practically picture the phone cord tangled in her hands, fingers red from the restricted blood flow. 

“I know but they wouldn’t let me out of my shift early. Is Prim already asleep?” 

“Yep. But you can say goodnight to her when - “ I slow my pace as I hear a loud noise on the other end of the line, a man shouting out expletives as Mom drops the phone and it clatters to the floor. 

“Mom?” I shout, abruptly picking up my pace as I hear the anger and the rage crash inside the house. I start to sprint as I hear a rippling scream, my heart racing as I round the corner onto my street. There’s a sharp pop and then a sobbing moan, my feet slowing as I hear the misery on the other end of the line. “Mom, pickup the phone,” I whisper, desperate for her to grab the handset and tell me everything was alright. 

From the end of the road I see the men flee my house, piling into a car and spinning the wheels as they tear off out of the neighbourhood. Around me people start to pour from their houses, the noise of the car and the screams now no longer restricted to just my cellphone as Mom wails into the night. 

Inside the tiny structure I find my father sprawled across the kitchen floor, blood leaking from his lips as the life leaves his body in a shuddering breath. Out of the corner of my eye Prim hides behind our bedroom door with her face half-hidden in shadows. 

“He tried to make them leave,” she whispers, watching me with those wide eyes that see right through me. 

My breathing stills as I stand over his lifeless frame. He was dead. They murdered him. 

I know we can no longer stay here. Not if we want to survive. 

* * *

We empty our savings and give every cent to a man who promises to take us north. The road is harsh and we’re crammed into the bed of a truck full of bodies, men, women and children all looking to escape the violence that has come to plague our cities. 

By the time we reach the border Prim and I are alone, our mother having given up long ago. 

_ “I can’t do it,” she whispers, her eyes darkened as she looks at me across the fire.  _

_ “Can’t do what, Mom?” I ask brusquely. Between us Prim sleeps with a tattered blanket pulled tight around her shoulders, the men of the convoy leering at us in the low light and making the hair stand on the back of my neck.  _

_ “Go any further. I’m only dragging you down and I can’t leave him. I can’t not be with him,” she moans and I nearly growl, rubbing my hands across my face. We’d had this conversation before - when we’d first left home and she refused to leave my father’s burial site. I’d practically dragged her to the bus station to bring her with us.  _

_ “He’s dead and we’re still alive. You need to choose us,” I insist, knowing she won’t. She only shakes her head and gets to her feet, handing me the few remaining items she’s brought with her all this way.  _

_ “You have an uncle in California. When you reach the border go find him. I love you, Katniss. Take care of Prim for me.”  _

It’s the last thing she ever said to me, her voice now like a ghost on the wind as we stare out across the river that stands between us and safety. 

“Remember when Dad taught us to swim?” I ask Prim as I settle her clothing and prepare her for the water. I remove her shoes and her jacket, stuffing all of it into the sack I tie tightly around my waist. 

“We’re not actually swimming across that, are we?” She asks softly. It’s dark and the water moves like a snake in the grass, quick and undisturbed. 

“We have to. I know it’s scary but it’ll be okay. You’re going to hold on around my neck and we’re going to kick as hard as we can and when we get across we’ll be safe, I promise,” I answer. Prim sniffles and wipes the tears from her cheeks, rousing her determination with a blink of her eyes. 

We plunge into the water and it’s cold and the current is swifter than I imagined and soon we’re further downstream than I expected, the shoulders of the river only growing wider and farther away. I kick and paddle and try to stay afloat as best I can, grabbing at my sister as she starts to slip from around my neck. 

It hurts to breathe. It hurts to keep pushing forward. But I have to. We can’t go back.

* * *

I wake up on a hard surface, my eyes stinging with the light overhead. 

“Prim?” I groan, patting my hand across the ground in search of my sister. When she doesn’t answer I open my eyes wider still and scan the space for her. Around me people mill about aimlessly, lifeless as they stare and pull reflective blankets tighter over their shoulders. “Prim? Where are you?” I call out, blind stares turning towards me. 

I get to my feet and stumble around the space, my wet clothes clinging to my frame as I try to find my sister. I scan face after face, looking into the deadened eyes of everyone in my cage. 

“Where’s my sister?” I scream through the chain-link fence, shaking the thin metal until a guard comes down the hallway and uses his baton against my fingers. 

“Hands off the fence!” He snaps, knocking my knuckles loose. 

“Where have you taken her? Primrose Everdeen? Where is she?” I growl. I must look like a drowned rat as I snarl up at him, his tall frame looming over me. 

“Look girl, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Now go sit the fuck down before I come in there and  _ make _ you sit down.” The threat chills me more than the wet clothes ever could and I step away from the fence, my heart sinking with every moment. 

Did Prim make it across the river with me? Did she survive or did I kill her? 

I refused to believe she was dead. Surely I would feel it like I felt my father slip away. She had to be alive. I just had to find her. 

* * *

Three days pass before I am processed and able to call Uncle Haymitch. Three days of asking for Prim, of learning nothing about her whereabouts. Three days of imagining the absolute worst possibilities, each growing more detailed and painful than the last. Maybe she was dead. Maybe that was better than this daily torture of being imprisoned with too many people in a space colder than I could handle, especially at night.

“We’re releasing you into your uncle’s custody until your asylum claim can be processed,” the lawyer across the table from me announces, her eyes turned towards her paperwork. “He will be responsible for ensuring you attend all of your appearance requests. If you do not show for any of your requests you will be deported back to Honduras immediately. Keep your hands clean and - “ 

“Have you found Primrose Everdeen yet? Has she been processed too?” I whisper, my voice hoarse. The woman barely glances towards me at my question. 

“I personally have not heard of her case but I’ll try to locate her if I’m able. Congratulations Miss Everdeen and welcome to the United States.” 

I’m discharged from the detention centre with only the clothes on my back, the surly man standing at the gates watching me approach with trepidation. 

“Katniss?” He grunts, brushing the loose hair back from his face. He looks like he hasn’t bathed in days though I’m sure I’m not much better off, my own smell starting to get to me under the hot sun. 

“Haymitch?” I counter and he nods, motioning for me to follow him without another word. When we reach his car in the parking lot I pause, looking across at him. “Have you heard anything about Prim?” My voice cracks, the slight shake of his head making my chest hurt. 

I spend the entirety of the drive curled tightly in my seat, watching the outside world pass as I think about my family now scattered to the wind. We couldn’t stay where we lived, not after what happened to my father, but a part of me wondered if this was any better. If this was the land we were told was full of opportunities. I was starting to think that we were wrong. That maybe we’d signed our death warrants by heading north and into the unknown.

* * *

“Hi, I’m Peeta,” the boy next to me announces, his hand extended towards me as I shrink further into my seat. I look away, towards the bookcase to my left and try to wish myself anywhere but in this classroom in this too fancy school with its bright windows and its harsh lights and its white students who all seemed to smile and continue their lives while my sister was missing. “Is this your first day?” 

“No hablo Ingles,” I mutter, even though I speak English well enough to attend the senior level English class I’m currently sitting in.

“Oh…  mi español no es bueno pero - “ 

“Please leave me alone,” I grumble when he presses further. I can feel his eyes focused on me, their blue heat making the hair on the back of my neck stand up. 

“Lo siento,” he replies eventually, shifting in his chair and then turning his attention to the teacher at the board in front of us. 

I spend the entire class looking out the window, my chin in my palm as I focus on the birds in the trees and the clear sky overhead. My thoughts drift to Prim, where she was now, who she’s with. If she was happy there. If she was in a class just like mine, her smile wide and her face vibrant with life. 

I wish I knew where she was. 

The government didn’t seem to know or they couldn’t tell us anything, not even with Haymitch’s lawyers breathing down their necks. The one thing we did know was that she was alive - Border Patrol was quite certain about that. But they couldn’t tell us where she was sent after she was taken from me or which agency processed her into care when no parent came forward to claim her. 

I tried not to let the anger follow me throughout my days, shoving it down my own throat until at night when it escaped from me in vicious torrents that I screamed into my pillow and into the water of the pool in the backyard. 

* * *

Peeta Mellark keeps trying to talk to me. Day after day he struggles through a rendition of Spanish sentences that he must practice overnight, his grammar faltering as he tries to connect with me through the Google translate in his head. I try not to hold it against him and by the second week he even makes me smile, his phrasing so bad that I can’t help but shake my head and grin towards my desk. 

He must take it as a victory because he comes the next day with another sentence that makes me snort with its terrible pronunciation. 

“La fiesta es en mi caza y - “ My laugh causes him to pause, his words flipping back to English at the affront. “What? What did I say?” 

“That the party is in your hunt,” I mutter and he groans, rubbing his hands over his face. 

“I’m trying okay? If you couldn’t tell, we don’t have much Spanish being used in this place,” he laments weakly from behind his fingers. 

“It’s fine. I like the attempt,” I counter and it seems to spur him through his embarrassment, his gaze turning once more towards me. 

“So you do speak English then?” 

“Did the advanced English class not give it away?” I chide, glancing at him before turning my attention back to the pen in my grip. 

“Fair enough. Look, I was trying to invite you to a party at my place this weekend - it’ll just be a couple of us but they’re good people. Annie speaks better Spanish than I do so you’ll at least have her to talk to, plus there’s a pool and - “ 

“There’s always a pool,” I mutter, interrupting him. He shifts uneasily and then leans forward, his eyes finding mine. 

“Give us a shot, Katniss. Por favor?” 

* * *

The first time I laugh at Peeta’s house on Saturday I feel uneasy, the bubble of sound in my throat unfamiliar. Since coming to America I’d barely laughed - Haymitch was no treat to live with and the immigration system and suffering I’d experienced since coming north did nothing to provide me with fuel for small enjoyments. It almost hurt to use those muscles, to let my shoulders relax from around my ears as Finnick Odair did a foolish routine on the diving board. 

“He’s always been a showman,” Annie chuckles, leaning towards me as she says it. 

“I wouldn’t have known,” I reply as Peeta follows in his wake, a penguin waddle taking him to the end of the board before he topples gracelessly into the water. The laugh escapes me as he belly-flops and the splash reaches our feet. 

“Peeta was right about you, your smile is quite lovely,” Annie remarks as I turn to look at her with wide eyes. My lips form a line at her comment and I clam up, words freezing in my throat as I look at the girl across from me. Without prompting my mind’s eye flashes back to one of the car rides north, the coyote’s hand on my thigh as he told me I had a nice smile. “Are you okay Katniss? What did I say?” Annie breaks into my thoughts, her hand reaching out to grasp mine on the table. 

“It’s - “ I swallow tightly, closing my eyes as I try to wipe the thought from my consciousness. “It’s nothing.” 

“Katniss, you can talk to me, you know?” She offers and I shake my head, looking towards the boys in the pool. Across the yard Peeta catches my eye, his own smile faltering as he looks at me. 

It feels stifling in the hot sun, the air too hard to breathe in that instant. I couldn’t be here with these strangers, I couldn’t tell them my story. I couldn’t be one of them. Not now, not ever. I didn’t belong here. 

“Katniss!” Peeta’s voice follows me through the hallway of his too big house, his feet sliding across the tile as I pull on my shoes in the entryway. “Where are you going?” He asks as he holds the towel around his shoulders and drips water onto the floor. 

“Home. Thanks for having me,” I state and turn towards the door. 

“Wait! What happened? Are you alright?” He steps closer as he asks, his face a mixture of concerned confusion. 

“I… “ I start and falter, my chest hurting as I try to find the words. I can’t be here. I don’t know where my sister is. How could I let myself feel happiness when my family was lost? 

“You can talk to me, Katniss,” he whispers. I can see him fighting to keep his distance, his instinct to get closer apparent on his face. 

I break then. 

The words come streaming out in a jumbled mess of English and Spanish and a hybrid of both as the tears burst from my eyes. I lean against the door before dropping to the floor, my head falling to my knees as I sob about my sister, my mother, my father, about the pain I’d experienced coming to this place where I was unwanted. In front of me Peeta kneels, his hand on mine as he listens to me cry and gives me the space to exist when I feel like I might explode from the emotions coursing through me. 

When I’m done, when there’s nothing left to let loose, Peeta pulls me to my feet and steers me towards the bathroom where I’m able to wipe my face and press a cool cloth to my eyes. He pours me a glass of water and lets me get swallowed up by his couch cushions as he sends the others home and changes back into his clothes. 

Together we hangout in silence until a pair of headlights shine through the front window, Haymitch’s car visible in the low evening light. 

“Thank you for - for being nice,” I murmur as I bid goodbye in the front hall. Peeta nods, a soft smile on his features. 

“De nada, Katniss,” he whispers before I close the door behind me. 

* * *

Six months pass. The government says my sister is back in Honduras with family but I know we have no family left there to take her in. Mom refuses to answer any of my calls and I know that if she were even still alive there’s no way she would be able to take on Prim, not after the way she gave us up. My friend Gale from my old job tells me my old home is empty, that it’s slowly caving in on itself from disrepair. Prim isn’t back there. She can’t be. 

The immigration lawyer Haymitch hired for my asylum claim, Johanna Mason, has put pressure on the government to produce the records of my sister’s transfer. It doesn’t seem to be working but she fights tooth and nail anyways and I can’t begrudge her for fighting a machine that refuses to lose. 

When the new year rolls in I try not to lose hope. Instead I lose myself in the easy alcohol that flows at Finnick’s party and work to wipe reality from my mind for only one night. Peeta never leaves my side. He rarely does these days and I don’t know whether to find it sweet or smothering. 

He doesn’t judge me as he holds my hair back while I pray to the porcelain god, he only rubs my back and ensures I’m tucked safely into a bed before I pass out for the night. When morning rolls around he drives me home and holds my hand for the length of the trip, his calming presence giving me strength to move forward in a year that has started out so bleak. 

* * *

“You can’t do this again, Katniss,” Haymitch scolds as I twist my hands in my lap. Beside me Annie shifts, small hiccups of breath escaping her as she tries to inject into his angry tirade. “If you keep drawing attention to yourself they’ll send you back - without question - and where will you be then? Raped or murdered for speaking up? For trying to get out of that place? It’s unacceptable!” 

“She wasn’t - “ Annie starts and I grab her hand, squeezing it as she looks over at me. There’s spitfire in her expression, her eyes burning hot with the clarity of her argument. 

We’d only been at the protest for a few minutes before Haymitch’s car had pulled up, the engine idling as he jumped from the driver’s seat and stalked towards me. He’d practically dragged me away from the group, pushing me into the passenger seat as Peeta called out to him and Annie pulled open the back door to pile herself, Finnick and Peeta into the small space. 

He’d driven us home in record time, his body seething as he parked in the driveway and ordered me into the house. I’d settled on the couch with Annie and Peeta beside me, their presence giving me strength as Haymitch paced in front of us. 

“I know, Haymitch. I know,” I whisper to his returning groan, his hands covering his face as he drops to a crouch in front of us. 

“You can’t protest the centres. I know it’s where they held you but you can’t do it. They’ll put the pieces together and your case will be fucked - “ 

“I know!” I hiss as he continues pressing, my frustration starting to break free as I snap back at him. “Don’t you think I already know all of this? Of course I do! I was in there! I know how they treat people like me. You and Annie and Finnick and Peeta all have the protection of your whiteness to keep them from targeting you but it’s happening to me! To people who look like me and yet I’m told again and again that I can’t do anything - don’t you know that I know I can’t do anything? Don’t you think I learned that when they killed my father? When that coyote assaulted me? When they stole Prim from me? Don’t you all think that I know? There’s no place for me in this country - they’ve made that pretty clear to me already so what does it matter if they send me back?” 

My words freeze the air around us and I feel Peeta stiffen beside me, my gaze drifting up to meet his as the words land their one-two punch. I hadn’t meant to hurt him. I hadn’t meant to let this all spill from me, not when we were getting so close. But I couldn’t keep it inside anymore. It was killing me to sit idly by as Annie, Peeta and Finnick went to the protests. It was killing me to pull Peeta against my chest when he got so upset that even his words failed him. 

He was fighting for me - they all were - and here I was putting myself at risk of getting sent home on purpose. It was a betrayal. I knew it. Peeta knew it. 

“There is a place for you, Katniss,” Finnick breaks in, his arms crossed over his chest as he stands to the side of Annie’s chair. “It’s here, with us. Don’t you see  _ that _ at least?”

I feel the tears wallop me like that damn willow tree in  _ Harry Potter _ , the branches of his truth pummeling my chest as I try to catch my breath. He was right. For all the misplaced angst I had about being in the US - being somewhere where I was unwanted - it was countered by the love I felt when Annie celebrated a successful mark in school, when Finnick defended me to those judgemental fools at school. It was especially felt when Peeta held me in his arms, that first time we were together and every time after that he curled himself around me. 

Before I realize quite what’s happening I’m pulled from my seat and arms have surrounded me, the four members of my found family wrapping themselves around my small frame and enveloping me in their embrace. In the center with me Peeta nuzzles against my ear, his voice low enough for only me to hear. 

“No matter how hard you push, I’m still here, okay? We all are.” 

* * *

We graduate in the spring of 2020, college ahead of us in the fall looking less terrifying than the election that looms before us. Since coming north I’ve witnessed the true horrors of humanity that I thought I’d never see - modern day concentration camps, bodies piling up as desperate people tried to fight for a better life, hatred in so many forms by a population angry with no outlet. 

Sometimes I think about whether it would have been better to stay in Honduras, where we would have still been together had we not come here. Maybe Prim wouldn’t have died in foster care, alone and separated from her family. Maybe Mom wouldn’t have given up and disappeared from the world. Maybe I wouldn’t have been forced to do unthinkable things to get us closer to a future where we had a chance. 

But then I remember the look on my father’s face as blood dripped from his lips. I see Mom in his spot. Prim in his spot. 

I know coming here was the right choice but it still hurts, the memory of their losses too fresh to move past just yet. 

“What are you thinking about?” Peeta asks lowly, his fingers brushing the hair back from my face as he lay before me. 

“Prim, home,” I reply. His hand drops to my back and he cuddles in closer, wrapping me up in his embrace in the way he knows makes me feel safe and wanted. 

“Tell me about her smile,” he asks and I do, diving into the smallest details as he presses a kiss to my forehead and holds me like I’ll float away from him if he didn’t keep me close. 

When we go away to school later that year we do so prepared to fight. We protest. We join the detention centre raids. We yell and we scream for human rights, for the men, women and children who deserve to be treated like people and not animals. Our courses revolve around the fight and there’s no relenting in the world we want. When I take my citizenship oath Peeta is by my side, standing strong next to Haymitch as I become one of the protected voices, one of the citizens able to speak up. 

We vote. 

“I don’t want to watch,” I state as I look towards the living room, our friends’ faces drawn towards the flickering light of the television. 

“I get it,” Peeta answers softly, watching me watch them. Neither of us are prepared for the results that will be announced as polls start to close on the eastern seaboard. 

“What if he gets re-elected?” I ask. Peeta eases closer, his arms pulling me into his chest. 

“Then we’ll fight even harder,” he answers softly. 

“I’m so tired, Peeta,” I whisper against his chest. He only tightens his arms in response, reminding me that despite my fears, despite everything that has been taken from me, he remains with me no matter what, the one bright spot in this darkest timeline. 


	3. Choice

**Election Night, 2016 - Georgia**

“This isn’t really happening, is it?” I ask as the ticker tape across the bottom of the screen flashes red with ‘Breaking News’ screaming back at me. I rub my face, the scruff from my beard starting to grow in with the late hour and my eyes going bleary with lack of sleep. 

This couldn’t be real. There was no way this was actually happening. I look towards Katniss across the room, her own mouth hanging open as she stares at the screen. Beside me Johanna gets to her feet, walking out of the room as she whispers about needing to throw up. 

“Donald Trump will be the 45th President,” the announcer calls out, her own look one of disbelief as she makes eye contact with someone off screen. She swallows visibly and looks back to the camera, reading from the monitor as the breath shudders in my chest. 

Before tonight we’d spent the past three months campaigning for Hillary Clinton, our efforts to get out the vote to our college campus running up against diehard Bernie Sanders supporters and young conservatives whipped up in the furor that was caused by the tornado of Donald Trump’s campaign. It had been months of bitter debates, some of our friends even sinking into the depths of conspiracy as their critical thinking disappeared with the hyper-pace of this year’s election. We’d been so confident in Hillary’s win that we’d thrown a party to celebrate the breaking of the glass ceiling, cheap champagne held on ice as the numbers started to come in. 

When things started to turn the party came to a near standstill as people gave up and the electoral map solidified redder than we could have imagined. As state after state started to report Trump’s win all we could do was watch, frozen, as the talking heads started to grow more nervous as the night went on. 

“Peeta, tell me this is a trick,” Katniss whispers, her wide eyes turned towards me. 

“It isn’t a trick,” I respond softly as I feel the weight of reality starting to crush me. In the other room I hear a crash and Johanna’s yell, Gale’s low voice calming her as she tosses something solid against the wall. I would care about whatever she’s breaking in our apartment but right now all I can do is sit in stunned silence, watching as the world seems to tilt on its axis. 

Later, as Katniss and I lay together in bed, I can feel her curling in tighter, her fingers bruising where they grip against my skin. 

“I still can’t believe it’s real,” she murmurs, disbelief and confusion mixed in her tone. 

“I know. Neither can I.” 

“I need to go to the doctor’s tomorrow. Can you remind me to make an appointment?” She asks then, shifting back so that she can look me in the eyes. My brow furrows and I let my fingers drift across her cheek before dropping down to her chest. 

“What for?” 

“I want to get an IUD. I need to make sure I still have choices, even if he’s President for the next four years. I know it’s ridiculous and I’m being paranoid - “ 

“You’re not,” I interject, watching as she shifts under my gaze. 

“I’m not ready for kids, Peeta. I know you want them and that I love you but I’m not ready. I don’t want to have kids while this is the world we live in. I don’t want to not have a choice - “ 

“It’s okay, Katniss,” I urge, hoping to still her panicked rambling. She closes her eyes and I can see her struggling to keep her wits about her. “I support you. Whatever you want. Whatever you need, I’ll still be here okay?” 

“I can’t believe this is happening,” she repeats again later as we drift in and out of consciousness. Her thought follows me into a restless sleep, one that will undoubtedly colour the next four years of our lives. 

* * *

We attend the Women’s March the day after the inauguration, driving the ten hours to Washington to make our voices heard. Johanna leads the charge as she arranges bussing for groups from the college to participate.

I’ve never attended a rally like this before and it’s chaotic and beautiful and something that can’t be explained to an outsider looking in. With Katniss by my side we hold our signs high, Katniss’ reading the old mantra ‘My body, my choice’ and mine echoing the sentiment, ‘Her body, her choice’. It’s unoriginal but that doesn’t seem to matter, not to anyone who is happy to see men at a rally supporting women’s voices. 

By the time we arrive back in Georgia we’re exhausted, our energy spent and our bodies barely able to meander through our apartment door before crashing into bed together. When the morning comes it’s practically afternoon, the sun creeping through our drawn curtains as I watch Katniss sleep before me. 

I try to be strong for her, to stand by her side as she protests and fights against the injustice while I focus on writing the stories that need to be told. Sometimes she tells me I’m not doing enough and it hurts, like tiny cuts that seem to pick away at me. But I try to let it wash off of me as best I can, knowing that she was far more under attack than I was. I was just another young white adult male, protected by the inherent privileges she didn’t have access to, and we both knew that I could only do so much to reduce the impacts of that. So I try not to let the cuts fester. 

She was in pain. That’s what the dark circles under her eyes meant. I knew it and so did she. 

“You’re thinking too hard,” she whispers, breaking me from my thoughts as her hand presses flat against my chest. 

“It’s because you’re on my mind,” I counter to her groan, her body flopping onto her back and out of my bubble. 

“What did I do this time?” She sighs, glancing at me with a lifted brow. I chuckle and shift until I’m hovering over her, my palm cupping her chin. 

“It’s more what I didn’t do,” I pause, dipping my head to press a kiss to her nose. “I was thinking about how I haven’t told you how much I love you lately.” 

“Too cheesy, Peeta,” she sighs as I drift kisses along her collar. 

“Not cheesy enough, I think,” I mutter against her skin. 

We move together in a tangled mess of limbs, our hearts beating nearly out of our chests as we come together on the sunny afternoon. I try to show her without words - the language she knows best - how much I want her, how much I need her and love her. I can see the depths of her soul through her eyes and I know she has no idea the effect she has on me, especially here with our bodies connected and our breaths mingling in the cool air. If she knew, surely she wouldn’t hold back like she does. Surely she would know she was safe. 

* * *

“They can pay us less!” Katniss shouts, slamming into the apartment and tossing her bag onto the floor. I lean away from the counter to look at her, my hands covered in dough. 

“Sorry?” I counter, brows lifted in surprise as she storms through her daily routine. 

“The circuit court! They determined that employers can pay women less if their previous salaries were lower! Can you believe it?” 

“What? That’s stupid.” Katniss groans as she stalks into the kitchen and hops up on the counter next to me. Rolling her eyes, she grabs at some of the cookie dough still in the bowl. 

“You’re telling me. I’m so angry right now - I could just spit,” she mumbles, her mouth full. 

“Really? Does the cookie dough not help?” I joke to the shake of her head. 

“Obviously it does. But I can be both enraged and satisfied at the same time. Or have you not discovered how versatile I am?” Her words twist in my gut and I look towards her carefully. “What?” 

“Enraged and satisfied, sounds pretty apt to describe you lately,” I chide, easing in closer to her. She sighs and closes her eyes, shifting in her spot until she’s just out of my reach. 

“There’s so much to be angry about right now Peeta, I have to find joy somewhere,” she answers lowly. There’s dark circles under her eyes, not simply from the day’s events but from months of building anxiety as the new government came into force like a vicious whip. She’d taken the travel bans particularly hard as our friends from school started to fear for their pending status cards, their immigration status in question as their home countries made the list of banned passports. 

“I get that, I do, but I’m worried you’re taking every little issue personally and - “ 

“Because they  _ are _ personal!” She snaps, interrupting me. I turn away from her then, washing my hands in the sink as an unsteady silence spans between us. I knew this was a conversation bound for an argument, I might as well ready myself for it. 

“I know you feel that way. And I support you, I do, but Katniss you need to take care of yourself too, or - “ 

“If I’m not fighting for what I believe in - “ 

“Then you feel like you’re letting it happen, I know! Okay? I get it. But I’m afraid for you - I’m afraid you’re going to burn out again and I can’t sit by and let that happen, not if I can help you. I won’t let you hurt yourself - “ She doesn’t let me finish my sentence before jumping down from the counter and storming towards our bedroom, the door slamming in my face as the memory flashes hot in my thoughts. “I’m not going anywhere, Katniss, no matter how hard you push.” 

She keeps the door locked until the sun starts to set. From the low light of the living room I watch her escape to the bathroom before she walks pointedly down the hall to the kitchen. When eventually she joins me on the couch, it’s with a bowl of cereal and one of my cookies in hand, her eyes downcast as she looks away from me. 

“Do you want to watch something on Netflix or Top Chef?” I ask after a moment of tense silence, the only sound that of the spoon in her bowl. 

“I love you, Peeta,” she murmurs as her answer, her gaze flickering to mine as I smile softly back at her. 

“Love you too, Kat,” I respond and sigh in relief when she tucks herself up against me. 

Tonight would not be another night where we went to bed angry. 

* * *

_ “What are you doing out here?” I ask as Katniss sits on the edge of the dock, the cold air lifting puffs of our breath from our lips. Beyond us the lake party continues uninterrupted, the music and raucous behaviour audible over the stillness of the water.  _

_ “I needed to get out of there,” she whispers, staring at the moon’s reflection. I ease myself down beside her, my feet dipping into the liquid and ruining the perfect outline of the sky.  _

_ “I can imagine. Do you want to talk about it?”  _

_ “Leaving the party or my dead sister?” She counters sharply, though her voice barely rises above a hiss. I feel my chest ache with the hurt I know she feels, the deep crevice she’d sunk into after Prim died.  _

_ “I’ll talk about anything you need to talk about, Kat,” I reply softly, aware of how she continued to try to push me away when she was hurting.  _

_ It was something she always did, ever since we met in highschool. At first I’d let her distance us - retreating into my own self-doubt as I watched her sabotage herself over and over. But I’d caught on the night she wound up in the hospital, her pain finally taking her into the ER as she debated ending her life. I hadn’t realized the hurt she was working through and only after she’d texted me to come had I truly understood what she was struggling against. I’d gone to sit with her without question and I’d been there ever since, helping her right her world when everything seemed to keep tilting it on its axis.  _

_ “It’s been over a year and I still can’t get it out of my head, you know. I was calling her voicemail every week just to hear her voice. But I guess this week they reassigned her number and so I got some guy named Bill on the other end of the phone,” she tells me, her face hidden behind her fingers as I wrap an arm around her shoulders. “He was nice and all but I just wanted to hear her voice one more time. I thought about calling Rory, to see if he had anything left with her voice, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I didn’t want to open that wound for him too.”  _

_ “He would have understood,” I add thoughtfully, knowing full well that Rory Hawthorne would have done anything to give Katniss back her sister, especially after Prim had died in a hit and run when Rory was late to pick her up from her shift at the women’s clinic. There’d been talk that it wasn’t an accident - that someone had targeted her and lucked out when Rory was late - but nobody could prove it and so the tragedy stung that much more, the possibility of another truth making closure feel impossible. _

_ “I couldn’t take that risk. I didn’t want to hurt him again. I just wanted to hear it so it would stop feeling so sharp whenever I thought about her. I’m so tired of feeling like I’m only half a person without her, Peeta,” she finishes and though she doesn’t cry, I can feel her shoulders tense up with the tears she holds back.  _

_ “It’s okay to feel like this, you know that, right?” I attempt softly, pressing a kiss to her temple as she sighs a rickety breath. “You loved her and she was taken too soon from us and that hurts. But you’re still here and she would want you to keep going. To take up her life and keep living for her.”  _

_ “I just miss her so much,” she whimpers and her hands drop, the scars on her forearms bright in the pale light as they remind me of every battle she’s faced, every painful thing she’s survived from her father and sister’s deaths to her mother’s abandonment. Katniss was strong. She was resilient. But it didn’t keep the pain at bay in the dark hours.  _

_ “I know. But I’m right here, with you,” I say and pull her against me until she finally breaks apart and lets the pain release from where she’s bottled it up inside.  _

* * *

The hits seem to come one after another, small pebbles piling up and denting our fragile armor. Parkland happens. Santa Fe. Toronto. All acts of violence that are rumoured to tie back to misogyny and hate and there’s nothing I can do or say to lighten the load for Katniss as she presses forward day after day. 

We don’t talk about it. Instead we tiptoe around the issues, lamenting about the misery of the current state of affairs as though it was happening in some faraway world. It’s all we can do to keep afloat. 

I try to put a balm on the wounds we cut into each other but there’s little I can do when our words are aimed with precision, when our fights are silent, or when we don’t even need to say a thing to know that the other is hurting. Katniss isn’t the only one sinking under the weight of what happens day after day. 

The arguments have stopped. Neither one of us will admit that we’re too tired to keep fighting - for rights, for others, for us. Everyday it hurts.

* * *

Brett Kavanaugh. 

_ Brett Kavanaugh.  _

The name repeats again and again and Katniss shrinks more with every repetition. She didn’t know him but that didn’t matter. She understood what Christine Blasey-Ford was saying. She understood the pain the woman emitted as she testified, as she laid herself bare before the public to prevent him from moving onto the highest court in our country. 

I didn’t know. Not until I saw Katniss’ expression shutter, her arms wrapping around herself tightly as she watches the news blast the story across the room. 

“You okay?” I ask softly, coming up beside her as she watches the television in the display case at Best Buy. She looks at me, stricken, and shakes her head ‘no’. 

The fallout from the memories released by the hearing open a floodgate into Katniss’ past, old wounds opening up as though sliced fresh that day. She tries to keep it under control, to keep the hurt contained in her ever stoic behaviours, but eventually cracks start to show and it’s two weeks after he’s appointed that she falls apart. 

“It happened to me,” she whispers in an alleyway. 

We’d been out for a trivia night, our friends having dragged us to the local pub where pop culture questions were lobbed at us until one about the new Supreme Court Justice made her twist anxiously in her seat before she abruptly got up and left. I follow her out the door and into the streets, my heart thudding as I call her name. When I finally catch up to her I can’t stop from reaching for her arm before she slaps me away, pushing at my chest as she recoils against the brick wall of the pub.

“It was before I met you. When I still lived in the Seam. I was at a party with Gale and I don’t really recall what happened but I ended up upstairs in one of the rooms and some guy held me down on the floor while another guy put his hands all over me. They didn’t rape me so I never said anything but they could have. The only thing that stopped them was a knock on the bedroom door, some girl looking for the bathroom. I think she saved my life and she probably doesn’t even know it,” she laughs bitterly, her hands covering the back of her head as she presses her forehead into the stone. 

“I’m so sorry,” I murmur, for the first time lost for words. There’s no room for our own struggles here - not when this pain was fresh and deep and new. 

“I don’t need apologies, Peeta,” she responds, turning finally to face me. Tears have streaked her cheeks and where I expect sadness I only find fury.

“What do you need?” Her expression crumbles and she lurches towards me, my arms wrapping around her tightly as she curls into my chest. I hold onto her for a long time after that, desperate to absorb her pain and ease the truth from her shoulders if only for a moment. 

* * *

Katniss starts work at a women’s clinic across town. Every day she comes home exhausted, drained. There’s no more arguments - there’s barely any discussion about the issues that she’d been so passionate about since I first met her. To say she’s become a shell of herself is an understatement and I don’t know what to do. 

“Have you talked to a counsellor? Maybe they could help?” Finnick offers over lunch one afternoon, the small roadside diner busy with the midday rush. 

“I’ve tried, she isn’t interested. Gale told me she used to go as a kid after her dad died but now whenever I bring it up she just gives up - like she doesn’t even care enough to have the conversation. I’m trying but Finn, I don’t know what to do,” I whisper barely above the voices around us. 

“It’s a shitty situation, man. I know - I’ve been there with Annie. But you’ve got what others don’t. You love her and that’s bound to count for something.” 

“I do but some days it’s just so fucking hard,” I admit and press my fingers into my eyes, desperate to feel something other than the loss I felt when I thought about our relationship. 

“Maybe you could go, check it out, talk to someone for yourself?” He offers then, grabbing my wrist in his hand and dragging my fists back to the table. 

“I don’t know,” I mutter. 

“I’m going to call our guy. Set up an appointment for you. I’m worried about you, Peet. You’ve gotta talk to someone and maybe they can help you sort through some of it. Maybe they’ve got a decoder ring or something.” 

When I show up to the appointment a week later there’s no decoder ring offered but Dr Aurelius gives me new strategies to take home and work on, the aim of them to increase my resiliency so that I can be a better support to Katniss. He doesn’t hide the fact that to really address the problem he needs to talk to Katniss too but at least he tries to help as best he can. 

“You went to a shrink?” Katniss squeaks later that night, the rare surprise of her voice causing me to look up from my dinner as she scrolls through what can only be our bank transactions. 

“Yeah, I did,” I answer steadily, watching as she furrows her brow and sets down her phone. 

“Why? What could you possibly need to talk to a shrink about?” Her words hurt more than she intends and she practically recoils as she finishes, her teeth chewing the inside of her cheek as she looks across the table at me. “I’m sorry - that didn’t - I mean, Peeta... “ 

“It’s okay. I went because I don’t know what to do with us and you won’t go so I figured if I went maybe there was something I could be doing to - to make this easier,” I try to steady my voice as I admit it, nerves sparking more with every word. 

“What are you trying to say?” She croaks. 

“I love you. I love you so much that sometimes it hurts and lately you’re just not here. Mentally, emotionally, everything, and it’s just - I feel like I’ve lost you. It’s different than before - at least when you were struggling I knew you were here. But now - now it’s like you’ve left and I’m living with a ghost. You won’t go to a doctor and you definitely won’t talk to me and it’s just really fucking hard to keep doing this every day. So I went to talk to someone because I don’t know what else to do. I don’t want to lose you Katniss but I really don’t know what to do anymore and I miss you and it hurts,” I finish the last bit and lean my elbows on the table, hiding my face in my hands as I try to breathe through the frustration I feel that threatens to spill over. 

Her hand on my shoulder makes me tense as she kneels down beside me, wrapping her arms around my frame and pulling me against her. I can only fight the desire to give in to her for so long before I crack and twist to pull her to my chest, my arms holding her to me as she begins to cry against my collar. 

Later, as we lay together between our sheets, Katniss rests her palm against my heart and looks up at me with a soft gaze. 

“There was a girl - she came into the clinic in January. She was so young Peeta and she was pregnant and she didn’t want it. I tried to provide resources to her and her mom but it wasn’t enough. The new law - the ban - it doesn’t let anyone have a choice anymore,” she pauses and releases a shuttering breath as I rub my hand across her back. “We had to send her home. We couldn’t do anything for her.” 

“I’m sure you did what you could,” I offer lowly. Katniss can only laugh, a deep heart-wrenching bitter laugh. 

“She went home and caused a miscarriage in February. She ended up in the hospital and now she’s being charged with murder.” 

“You mean Rue Harrows? The kid on the news?” I swallow thickly as Katniss nods, tears falling quickly now as she tries to hold it together. 

“They took away her chance at life first when they took her choice. And now they’re taking away her freedom because she just wanted to live a normal life. She’s being punished for trying to escape the cycle - for trying to not be a kid with a baby who is stuck in this poverty cycle with no parental support and no way to break free. And every day I have to walk by the protestors outside of the clinic who scream vicious things at us, who screamed at Prim every day, at our patients even though we still can’t offer abortions. And every day I have to watch our government exclaim gleefully that heartbeat laws are saving lives. That unborn clusters of cells are more important than a 12 year old who nearly killed herself to try to be free.” 

“Katniss,” I whisper as she sobs lowly, my arms pulling her closer. 

“I love you Peeta but I don’t know how to deal with this anymore. I don’t know how to help them. Please don’t give up on me. Please don’t leave me.” 

“Never. I’m never - Katniss - I’m here. I’m here with you and I won’t stop loving you. But I need you to look at me right now,” I still and she’s slow to open her eyes, the sadness rippling across her expression. “I need you to talk to someone. We can’t keep ignoring this - it’s going to kill us or tear us apart if you don’t. And worse, how are you supposed to help these girls if you’re struggling too? You can’t give them a hundred percent if you’re only operating at fifty. Promise me you’ll do this. That you’ll go if I make an appointment for you because I want you alive. I need you with me.” 

“I promise. I promise I can do that,” she whispers and then her lips find mine, her body nearly crawling into my own skin as she cries into the night. 

* * *

Days go by. Weeks. Months. I regularly start to pick Katniss up at work, driving through to the gated parking lot and waiting for her to slide into the passenger seat before we exit through the mess of bodies protesting on the sidewalk. I keep the music loud and Katniss’ hand in mine as we drive by and then head for home or her counsellor or to dinner at Gale and Jo’s. 

We get better. Both of us continue therapy to deal with the challenges that we face and it somehow makes us stronger despite the growing difficulties of the world. 

When the 2020 election rolls around we force ourselves to brace for whatever comes next. 

“I don’t want to watch,” Katniss states as I look towards the living room, our friends’ faces drawn towards the flickering light of the television. 

“I get it,” I answer softly, turning and watching her watch them. Neither of us are prepared for the results that will be announced as polls start to close on the eastern seaboard, not really. All we can know is that we tried our best to do what was right. 

We protested. We voted. We fought tooth and nail for every person that we thought we might be able to help. 

“Hey Peeta,” Katniss whispers as she bounces up from the door jam, her hand linking with mine and her fingers twisting the ring on my wedding finger. 

“Yeah?” She smiles up at me, a soft look on her face as she wraps her arms around my shoulders. 

“Thank you for loving me, even when it’s hard.” I don’t need words to agree as I pull her flush against me, our shared hug conveying everything I could possibly fit into words with just one gesture. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was not a happy chapter. I don't think any of them are, if I'm being honest, because this period of time has been anything but happy for human rights. Every twist of this little story I've seen in action at one point or another in the past three years and that makes me sick inside. Fuck hate. Fuck anti-choice. Fuck discrimination and everything that is driving a wedge between us.


	4. Hate

**Election Night, 2016 - Virginia **

“And the state of Virginia goes to Democrat Hillary Cliton,” the announcer calls, Katniss sits up straight as she watches the TV in the student lounge. Beside her Johanna Mason lets out a whoop, Gale groaning and pulling the belt of her jeans to get her back into her seat. The crowd around us is mixed in their excitement, some of the white faces drawn as they turn back to their conversations. 

“I’m still nervous,” Katniss hisses, looking around the room. Just because Trump hadn’t won  _ here _ didn’t mean he wouldn’t win the whole thing. There was still time.

“We can only do so much, Kat,” Gale says from beside her, squeezing her shoulder as they watch the coverage with rapt attention. 

“I know. I just - everyone in here except us is white,” Katniss replies and twists her hands in her lap. Even their friends were white, middle-class kids from around the University, comfortable in their skin despite the historical atrocities committed against people like her. She tried not to look at it this way but it was hard. Race was alive and well as a player in the social structure of her school and though it was barely talked about, it was still there, hiding under the surface in every daily interaction, in the statues that stood overhead. 

Another few hours pass and the excitement from earlier whittles away to nothing, the mood turning sour. It’s Johanna who is first to call it quits, settling up their tab and leading the small group out into the street to head for home. By the time Katniss settles into her bed it’s late, the dread of the news that would come tomorrow sinking into her chest. 

Her sleep is restless, tossing and turning until a dream takes over and pulls her under. It’s a haunting reality, where Trump has won and the hate that has simmered under the surface begins to ignite and consume her city. When she wakes it’s 3am and the sweat is cold on her brow, the nightmare making everything feel surreal as she tries to catch her breath. Later, she’ll recall the dream with others and find they shared a similar one, the time of waking up coinciding with the confirmation of Trump being elected as the 45th President of the United States. 

* * *

“That man is going to set this world right,” his mother attests, setting the potatoes down on the table and easing herself into a chair at the head of the table. Beside him Rye laughs, shaking his head but keeping his thoughts inside. 

“We’re going to take back what’s rightfully ours and he’s going to help, I know it,” Marko adds and this time it’s Peeta’s turn to roll his eyes, his thoughts turning foul with what the table had decided was the conversation topic for the rest of eternity. 

Donald Trump had won the presidency and in turn had added fuel to the fire of hatred that his family seemingly feasted on. He didn’t agree with their politics but he’d tried, desperately so, to look past it and see the fact that they were his family and he should love them all the same. 

But it was harder now to look the other way. His job on the force in Charlottesville had opened his eyes to people from all walks of life, their struggle and the way they could persist even when things were difficult. They’d shown him humanity at its best - and worst - and he knew now that his family’s anger was misplaced. It wasn’t the black man or the brown man or the yellow man that was keeping them down - it was the system that had been built to pit them against one another. 

“Have something to say, Peet?” Marko presses, his words anything but light. 

“Not on this topic, no,” he answers evenly and then stuffs his mouth with potatoes to keep from saying anything more. Keep the peace, keep the peace - 

“Seems like you might want to elaborate on that,” Marko continues and Peeta can almost feel his mother sitting up straighter, feeding off of the conflict that was brewing between her sons. 

“We all know we don’t see eye to eye on this. Let’s just let it go, alright?” He tries to slip out from the press of his brother’s thumb but it doesn’t work, his words giving too much away. 

“How can you not agree? You were raised in this house, same as I was. You should be celebrating now, we won and our race will rise once again and return to our rightful place in this world. We’re being elevated - “ 

“On the backs of people who are just as equal as us,” Peeta snaps, desperate to cut off the stream of consciousness words that spill from his brother’s lips whenever he starts down his road of righteousness. 

“We’re far from equal,” Marko growls and his mother hisses her acceptance, her hand coming up to grip at Marko’s shoulder. Peeta looks back towards his plate and keeps his words in his mouth, unwilling to relent but also unable to agree. 

He couldn’t. Not anymore. Not now that he knew Katniss. 

“What’s got you all tongue tied now?” Rye chides jokingly, almost pleadingly to change the topic. “Is it a girl?” 

Rye was very nearly the closest thing this family had to a middle man. He laughed and joked and made light of everything - including the hate that was a feature of conversation - and Peeta never quite knew where he stood on the big things. Sometimes he would play along, if only to avoid the heavy hand of his mother, and other times he would find Peeta tucked away in his room and make confessions on how much he hated the way his family spoke. That dual life was coming out now as he tried to move onto to something less offensive, something that could ease the tension that was building in the room. 

“Leave it alone, Rye,” Peeta snaps, painfully aware of how bringing up this subject now would tarnish the whole thing. He couldn’t talk about Katniss with his family. Not now. Likely not ever. 

“Come on, tell us about her. I know you’ve been sneaking out to talk to her on the phone at night,” Rye urges and Peeta glares at him, his teeth gnawing on the inside of his cheek. 

“It’s nothing,” Peeta lies and he hates himself for it. Katniss was never nothing. 

_ They’d met after a rally on campus. She’d been protesting the election and he’d been helping with crowd control, keeping his eyes on the counter-protestors who were a bit more intense than he’d have liked. At some point the crowd had shifted and she’d been knocked into him, his arms wrapping around her tightly as she rebalanced herself.  _

_ “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to - “ she says as she pulls back, her eyes wide as they flick between his badge and his face.  _

_ “No trouble at all,” he replies and when she smiles…  _

“Sure it isn’t. Show us a picture of her so we understand the blush on your face!” Rye insists and before Peeta can even realize what’s happening his phone is pulled from where it sits on the table and Rye is inputting his lock password. His brother’s lips zip closed as he opens the text app, Katniss’ messages filling the screen as a selfie of her in the forest loads and blinks up at them. 

Peeta’s hands are too slow to grab the device before Marko rips it from Rye’s hands, his skin paling as he looks across the table at Peeta. 

“You’re dating this?” Marko scolds, showing the phone screen around the table. Peeta’s hands clench around his fork and he tries - boy, does he try - to keep his anger inside. “She’s not even sub-human!” 

He can’t do it. 

Getting to his feet abruptly, Peeta ignores the way his chair falls to the floor as he stalks around the table and grabs the phone from his brother’s hand. In his haste he misses how his mother gets to her feet, her walking cane caught up in her grip as she steps around Marko’s chair towards him. 

“Go, boy, and don’t you bother comin’ back,” his mother shouts, whipping the side of the cane into his ribs. He twists away from the pain, seething, as he turns on his heel and heads for the staircase. 

Back in his room he gathers his things, leaving behind all of the things that would remind him of this place and the misery he’d lived through here. This wasn’t the first fight that his family had started but it would be the last that he had to live through. He was done with them. There was nothing here to salvage anymore.

* * *

Prim didn’t realize that the cop her sister was seeing was so good-looking, her smile widening as he walks through the front door and shakes the rain from his mop of hair. 

“Go take his coat and spy for me!” Prim instructs to Rory, elbowing him up from his chair as she continues to baste the turkey. Rory huffs and lumbers towards the door, taking Peeta and Katniss’ coats and hanging them up in the closet off the entryway. 

“Hey little duck,” Katniss greets as she joins her in the kitchen, poking through the food sitting on the counter. 

“He’s so pretty, Kat!” Prim hisses, looking at her sister and waiting for her to deny it. She doesn’t and Prim bounces on her feet, surprised at the smile her sister lets slip. “How did you meet him again? Did you find him in the afterlife with a set of wings?” 

“Come on, you think I would end up in the Good Place?” She jokes in return. “I just came in to say hi - I should go rescue him from Uncle Haymitch,” Katniss adds and squeezes her sister’s shoulder before returning to the living room. 

Prim spends the next few hours observing her sister and the way she lights up around this Peeta Mellark she’s brought home. She can’t believe they’d only been dating a few weeks since, having never met any of Katniss’ boyfriends before, it seemed bizarre that she would bring him home for Christmas, of all holidays. 

“Peeta, tell me why you’re sitting ‘round this dented table instead of in what I assume is an upscale middle-class suburban home somewhere in the midwest?” Haymitch barks, leaning back from his empty place and swirling the whiskey in his glass. Good ole’ Haymitch was ready to ask the questions Prim wouldn’t dare let slip, despite how badly she wanted to. 

“Well, my family is a bit much - “ 

“Aren’t they all?” Haymitch interjects with a laugh as Peeta nods his head. 

“True. But mine are more of the ‘Make America Great Again’ bunch but with the added bonus of kick out everyone except their lily white ancestors,” Peeta finishes and looks towards Katniss who wraps her hand around his. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me - “ Haymitch sputters and Katniss looks pointedly towards him, her grey eyes flashing with warning. 

“Peeta has told me about his family already, he doesn’t need to - “ 

“He’s a cop!” Haymitch interjects angrily, stopping Katniss’ words as she shifts in her chair. “He checks all the boxes - young, white male with privilege, supremacy links - “ 

“He’s not his parents! Haymitch - ” 

“He’s sitting right here,” Peeta says quietly, gripping Katniss’ hand from where it’s curled tightly into a fist on the table. Katniss and Haymitch still, looking towards Peeta as he sits up straight. “I know my profile makes you nervous - you’ve every right to be nervous around someone like me - but I’m not them. I don’t follow what they think, or what they do, I haven’t for a long time - “ 

“But you did, once, right? You hated us just because we had more pigment in our skin?” Rory asks under his breath, wading into the fight and surprising Prim as she looks towards him. 

“I was a kid. Nobody had taught me anything else so yeah, I did. But then I learned I was wrong and I tried to make it better. I became a cop not because I wanted to use it against people who didn’t look like me but because I wanted to try to protect everyone from the thoughts I’d grown up with. If you’d like me to leave, I’ll go, but I'm not here to cause you any trouble,” Peeta pauses, looking around the table and holding tight to Katniss’ hand. She twists her wrist until their fingers link, tightening together as though binding themselves against everyone else.

“We definitely don’t want you to go,” Prim says evenly, looking around at the tense faces that surround her perfectly decorated family table. These were the people she loved - Katniss especially - and if she had to be the glue to hold them together after this news then she would do it. For her. For them all. “I’m going to give Peeta the benefit of the doubt. It’s Christmas and that means family and if one of my family members trusts him, then I will too. Right Rory?” 

* * *

"He's not one of us. I can't have him here while I'm hosting this meeting, Katniss. You know that!" Haymitch scowls, cornering her on the porch.

Katniss shifts uneasily on her feet and looks out to where Peeta sits in the car, driving slowly in search of a parking spot. "I can't tell him to leave. He wants to help."

"We don't need his help. Besides, he'll be working on the day anyways. What good is it for him to attend our meetings? To hear all of our plans and then share them with the pigs?" 

"He wouldn't - Peeta isn't like that. He wants to help us with tactics and safety, isn't that what you said we needed to improve on after the last protest? Why won't you take his help now?" Katniss hisses. 

"Because he's the enemy! Don't let the hormones fool you, girl, a man rarely changes stripes if they're burned into him,” Haymitch growls in return. 

He didn't want the kid here. He didn't trust him. Not yet, maybe not ever. But he couldn't turn away an Everdeen - they were family and from the Seam and they were the scrapiest fighters he knew and he needed that if he was going to coordinate a counter-protest to the impending Unite the Right rally that was coming in a few weeks.

"You're being an asshole, Haymitch, just so you know. But I'll tell him to go home today because you're family. I'll see if I can get him to write it down for us until you cool the fuck off on this but you need to realize that we're not going to change minds until we can make allies from all walks of life," she adds and turns on her heel.

Haymitch breathes an exhausted sigh and rubs his face. She was starting to sound like the kid now - all rational and well spoken, even keeled. She never used to be like that - she used to be a spitfire that was ready to set the world on fire. He wasn’t used to it but he’d have to adjust if he was going to get this revolution done. Watching her turn from the car and cross her arms, Haymitch nods before heading back inside the small house and starting the meeting.

A week later Haymitch finds an envelope tucked in his mailbox outlining the crowd control strategy for rally day along with the current permits issued by the city to all the relevant groups staging protests. 

_ I get it. I won't press the issue. Tell me if you need more. -Peet _

Haymitch takes the package and grumbles a few expletives, a small smile on his face betraying his words. Maybe he could trust him. Maybe.

* * *

“Don’t,” Peeta pants, pawing at her chin and turning her back to face him. He feels the spark of their connection as her eyes flicker up to his, his heart hammering as her lips open below him. He eases closer and nuzzles their noses together as she claws at his back. “I wanna see you fall apart,” he whispers and captures his lips with hers. 

His thrusts pickup their pace and he drops a hand to her chest, cupping her breast as she twists and moans against him. “I don’t want this to end,” she murmurs into his ear, her legs wrapping around his hips and trapping him against her. 

“I know. You feel so good around me, Kat. You’re perfect,” he adds and she closes her eyes again, hiding from his affirmations in the way she always did when they were this close and he was on the verge of letting his truth slip out. 

_ I love you, Kat. _

He couldn’t say it yet. She wasn’t ready and he understood, really, he did, but today was terrifying him. They were standing on the brink of madness that could tear their city apart - a race war incited by bigots and the Klan that was festering from a lack of civility and an argument that both sides were equal and valid. They weren’t. One called for the destruction of the other, how could that be equal? 

“Come back to me,” she calls to him, lifting her hand to run her fingers through his hair. He sighs and presses a distracted kiss to her wrist, tucking his head along her neck and huffing into her shoulder as she moans softly against his skin. 

His body tenses as he feels her hand slip between them, touching herself to bring her closer to the edge. He should be the one doing that, making her feel good, getting her off, but he was stuck in his own head and he couldn’t get out. He didn’t want her to go to the protest but he couldn’t tell her not to go. He couldn’t stand in the way of her doing what was right. 

“I’m so close, Peeta,” she says and he knows he’s doing a lackluster job now, his thoughts unfocused and his hips losing their rhythm as she clings to him. He tries to pay attention, tries to do anything but dumbly thrust into her, but he can’t do it. All he could think about were the worries that today brought, the risk they faced by just going outside. 

Without help from him, she falls apart under her own hand, her body clenching around him as he tries to focus on the heat of her, the way her heart beats against his chest, anything to bring him back to the here and now. 

He hasn’t finished but it seems pointless now to fumble onward and so he unceremoniously pulls out and flops onto his back, his arm draped across his brow to hide his embarrassment. 

“What’s wrong?” Katniss says after a moment, looking towards him across her pillow.

“Nothing,” he lies and she sees right through it, turning to rest her hand over his heart.

“Don’t lie to me Peeta, not today,” she presses. Her hand drops to his waist, ghosting over his length and stirring it back to life to betray him. “You didn’t cum and you’re barely talking. What’s going on with you?” 

“I can’t stop thinking about work is all,” he scratches out through staggered breath. Her hand wraps around him, slowly starting a torturous pattern that makes his blood leave his brain. 

“It’s going to be okay.” Katniss shifts and slides down his body, her mouth dipping to take him inside. 

She weaves magic around him, licking from base to tip and holding him on her tongue until he feels himself melt underneath her. A few more strokes of her hand, her lips wrapped around his head, and he cries out with a jolt to empty himself in her mouth. When it’s done, when he has nothing left to give, he grapples for her shoulders and draws her up to him in a desperate clutching way. 

“I can’t tell you not to go but I’m worried for you,” he admits into her hair after a drawn out second, his fingers pressing into her skin. 

“It’ll be okay,” she says into his ear, attempting to soothe his raw nerves. 

“I love you, Katniss. I don’t want you to get hurt.” His words slow her breathing, her head lifting until her eyes meet his. There’s an unreadable look on her face and he feels the panic start to drift through his veins, the rejection just waiting to move to the surface. 

“Peeta,” she pauses, eyes searching his. “I - I mean, I think - I  _ know _ \- I love you too. And I’m going to be okay. It’s going to be okay.” 

He pulls her into his arms again, tightening his hold so he never has to let her go. They stay like that until the alarm sounds and it’s time to get up, ready themselves for the day that could be the end of everything they know. 

* * *

“You’ve got the milk in your bag?” Peeta calls from across the apartment, his own attention focused on packing for his shift. Katniss looks across at him in his uniform, his posture tight like it’d been all morning. 

“Yep. And the emergency contact numbers you gave me,” she answers and watches as he frowns into his bag. 

He’d been doing that a lot lately, losing himself in thought until she had to drag him back to the surface. She couldn’t blame him - he was only trying to keep her safe - but she needed him to see it, to deal with his distancing or else it was going to tear them apart. 

“You’ll text me when you get home? I might not answer but I’ll check,” he adds and she moves towards him to run her hand across his shoulders, hoping maybe it’ll ease some of the tension he holds inside. 

“It’s going to be fine, Peeta. We’ll be fine,” she says and turns him towards her to bring him down for a kiss. 

Hours pass between their last kiss and the moment when it all falls apart. She’s never seen anything like the hatred spewed today. The protest is vicious, fueled by rage and tumbling ever onward until chaos is the only winner. Blood and hate spills in the streets of Charlottesville as the warring thoughts blind and crash together. Jostled and pushed from one place to the next, she fights to stay in front of the moving crowd while still keeping Gale and Johanna at her side. 

When the car crashes into the crowd of people Katniss can’t come to grips with what she’s seen. Bodies tossed into the sky, screams as violent and vivid as anything she’s ever heard. She’s alright - her friends are alright - but the people hit are not. She wants to rush forward, to help, but the terror has filled her so completely that all she can do is stand in place as others scream at her to move. 

* * *

Prim stands next to her sister as she tries to negotiate her way into the hospital ward. She’s standing stock still, her hands wrapped across her chest, and Prim can see the worry in the tightness of her shoulders and the furrow in her brow. Her sister was on the edge of burning everything to the ground and Prim wasn’t sure she would try to stop her from doing it. 

“What do you mean I can’t see him?” Katniss hisses at the nurse. 

“I’m sorry, but only family are allowed in to see him,” the nurse replies and Prim has to reach out to grab Katniss’ arm, holding her back from taking down this woman who stood as the gatekeeper to Peeta’s ward. 

They’d been recovering at Prim’s place when they’d first got the call from the police station that Peeta was injured and in the hospital. Katniss had been convinced Peeta was one of the officers on the crashed helicopter that was being reported on and she’d refused to think anything but the worst had happened today after everything they’d seen downtown. She’d frantically called everyone she knew on the force, desperate for information as Prim drove them towards the hospital. No amount of rational thought or explanation could keep her from thinking the worst until she finally managed to get Finnick Odair, Peeta’s partner, on the phone. 

“Only family - it  _ was _ his family that did this to him!” Katniss screeches and the nurse recoils, pulling back from them. “Let me see him!” 

“Katniss, calm down,” Prim urges and squeezes her sister’s shoulder. She couldn’t believe the way the nurse was stonewalling them but she knew better than to cause a scene when you were asking for favours. “Ma’am, is there a clause for fiance’s?” 

“You’re engaged to Mr Mellark?” The nurse counters and Katniss nods quickly, taking the hint and leaning into the lie. 

“Come with me.” 

They’re lead towards a room at the end of the hall, officers standing outside the door with their hats in their hands and worry on their faces. Prim grabs her sister’s hand and tries to calm her through her touch, holding tight to her and keeping her from bolting into the room before she has more information. 

“He’s going to be alright,” Finnick says, stepping forward to grab Katniss’ shoulders and force her to steady. Prim watches as her sister is enveloped by Peeta’s partner, his presence seeming to bring her back from the edge just enough for her to finally center herself. 

“What happened?” Katniss asks after a moment, watching through the window as Peeta lay unconscious in the hospital bed. 

“His brother - Marko - caught him off guard in a crowd. We tried to intervene but there were too many of them. Peeta took a hard hit and smacked his head when he hit the ground. Doc says he should be okay but they’re keeping him to monitor for a day.” 

“So he’s going to be okay?” Her words are short, her mask of indifference slipping back into place. 

“They think so. It was just a fight that went sideways,” Finnick adds as Katniss groans and covers her face with her hands. 

“It didn’t go sideways. They’ve wanted to hurt him since he cut them out of his life. He’s just lucky they didn’t kill him,” she grumbles and pushes through the hospital room door to sit in the chair at his bedside. 

Prim watches as her sister sits vigil, the people around her rotating in and out and protecting his room like they were prison guards. To think that this morning she’d thought this protest would fizzle out without much fanfare, that nobody she loved would be hurt. She’d been wrong. Hate hurt everyone, even if they weren’t on the other end of the fist.

* * *

_ “Very fine people on both sides…”  _

Haymitch balks as the president addresses the nation, his words lazy and looping while still managing to thread together enough of a sentence to breathe anger back into the wounds of everyone who had fought against the hatred that had filled the city only days before. 

“He’s giving them permission!” Katniss growls and gets to her feet only to be pulled back down onto the couch by a semi-bedridden Peeta. 

“He is, but you can’t do anything by getting angry about it right now,” Peeta urges her under his breath. Though the boy had taken a beating on rally day, he’d managed to come through not too worse for wear apart from the concussion he’d suffered. Haymitch had been one of the first to come by to offer his support after he’d heard the news, albeit begrudgingly, and he hadn’t left much since. 

“But he’s the reason they feel so emboldened. He’s why your family…” She stops her words and looks at the boy, her eyes wide. Somehow they balanced each other, Haymitch thought, watching them figure this out together. Peeta was the cool balm to her Everdeen fire, though both of them made for a force to be reckoned with if their court appearance was anything to be measured against.

“It’s okay. They’re not my family. Haven’t been for a long time,” Peeta responds evenly and Haymitch watches as the boy rubs at the bruise on his cheek. 

Haymitch felt for the kid. Really, he did. He hadn’t thought Peeta had really changed his stripes when he’d first come around with Katniss, the stereotypes he fit almost too perfect, but his behaviour had shown Haymitch was wrong. The way the kid helped with the counter protest, how he’d listened to their concerns and stepped away when he needed to - Haymitch admired the calm way he approached the issues and still fought for what he knew to be right. This fight with his family had only spurred Haymitch to close ranks around him too, making it a priority to bring him into the family where he would be more protected from the hatred he’d escaped from. 

“You’re stuck with us then,” Haymitch grumbles from the doorway, watching as Peeta looks up at him and lets a small smile through. It’s an unspoken agreement between them - one that protects them all from what was only going to get worse in the coming years. 

* * *

“I don’t want to watch,” she states as she looks towards the living room, their friends’ faces drawn towards the flickering light of the television. 

“I get it,” Peeta answers softly, watching her watch them. Neither of them are prepared for the results that will be announced as polls start to close on the eastern seaboard. 

“I can’t take another four years of this. It’ll be civil war if he’s re-elected. He was impeached! How can he even  _ run _ for re-election?” Katniss continues and her words are the same as they’ve been throughout this last year, her worries echoed throughout their daily lives as the rally remains burned into memories too painful to shove away. Both of them felt the strain, though they were getting through it together. 

“We did what we could Katniss. We stood for what was important to us and we voted. If he wins again we’ll fight harder, okay?” She looks at him and his presence steadies her, his fingers linking tightly with hers as they return to the living room. 

There was a thin sliver of hope that hovered between them, one tied up in the way they had grown together during these years of disarray. Would they have found each other if the world had not gone topsy turvy? Neither was sure. All they knew was that by finding one another they were stronger, more resilient, and the world could be faced as long as they faced it together. 

Maybe that was how this was going to change. A little bit more love, a little bit more trust in a world that seemed to be running short of it. Hope. That’s what they had to rely on now. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn't my best work, I know. I tried to get it done on time but things just got in the way and my brain refused to think about the topics I was writing about. Sometimes I just want to escape this hellscape that is life since the 2016 election - it's exhausting and repetitive and gut wrenching. I have hope for 2020 but that fades in and out. 
> 
> Anyways. I hope this is okay. I hope it was enough to give a spark of hope to someone else. We're all in this together and it's only when we forget that - when we start seeing it as us versus them - that we fall apart. So bring people together, even if you don't agree on everything, and find a way forward, okay?


End file.
